


Elimination Communication

by Quality_Street_Sin



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Aftercare, Bratting, D/s undertones, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Desperation, M/M, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting, YKINMKATOK, anne and dan cameo, comission, very slightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:45:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quality_Street_Sin/pseuds/Quality_Street_Sin
Summary: Eddie Brock has numerous kinks, but he never thought he'd find himself enmeshed with this one, consenting to what amounted to potty training in reverse. But things were always more fun when you had someone to share them with.





	Elimination Communication

The first time was an accident. 

It was one of those moments when Venom was disgusted with his host; disgusted with humanity as a whole. Eddie had spent an evening with friends, engaged in semi-competitive ritual poisoning, and his current blood alcohol content was such that you could have cleaned lab benches with it. 

Binge drinking wasn't all downsides— acetaldehyde was a delicious molecule— but it was a net negative. 

Venom coiled around his host's irritated organs, probing at the stomach, the overtaxed liver, the ballooned bladder. 

That got a reaction—  Eddie hissed through his teeth, shifted from foot to foot as he fumbled his key into the lock.

“Don't  _ do that, _ ” he slurred, with a desperation that spoke to a lack of control. “Whatever- whatever that just was, don't do that.” 

Venom took the objection as a cue that he absolutely  _ should  _ do that, and continued to. Each touch made Eddie squirm more, and just as he stepped over the threshold of his apartment, Venom apparently crossed a line, and everything suddenly relaxed. 

“God damn it,” Eddie muttered, leaning back against the door, kicking his shoes off and away. “You  _ asshole _ . Look what you made me do!” 

It was a curious tangle of sensation, chemical and nervous. At the level Eddie experienced, it was mostly just the warm wet gush of wetting himself; the weight of sodden denim, annoyance at the impending clean up. The underlying process,, in the sparking chemical complex that made up his neurology, was more fun. It was a slurry of saccharine bliss. The human habit of describing such an act as “relieving oneself” suddenly made a lot of sense. 

But still, there was the bitter underscore of taboo; something that stopped just short of revulsion. Which was a shame, really—  the rest of the process was  _ fun _ . 

“Are you happy with yourself?” Eddie asked, peeling off a soggy sock. “‘cause, I gotta say, I am not.” 

**I'm sorry.**

“Yeah, yeah, sure you are.” Eddie staggered through to the kitchen, and tore a cabinet door open in search of multi-purpose surface cleaner and paper towels. 

**Usually you like it when I relieve your stressors.**

“Not when that means  _ pissing my pants. _ ” 

**You can just shower, you wuss.**

Eddie dropped a paper towel from on high and watched as it drifted down to make absolutely no impact on the puddle. He frowned and unspooled about half of the roll. 

**You didn't** **_entirely_ ** **dislike it.**

“Did  _ you  _ like it?” 

**Yes.**

A well of neurotransmitters, then. Something almost like hope; like curiosity. 

Like temptation. 

“Could I… learn to?” 

**We should talk about this when you're sober.**

With sobriety, the sentiment remained. 

* * *

Venom loved erections. 

They were a spectacle from the inside; the fascinating ballet of hormones and tissue and blood, and fun to play with. He loved triggering those particular feedback loops, testing each response in its percentages of dopamine and oxytocin; finding out what Eddie liked. 

Now was not the time for that, though. They'd had a talk about it. Getting hard in your sleep was normal, and it didn't mean anything, didn't imply consent. Venom had known that anyway- consent had a very particular flavour. 

But that didn't mean he couldn't put work in towards his current project.  

It was a simple thing, really. Ask Pavlov. 

This one was lucky timing, though.

The morning sun was just beginning to tint the sky pink, and Eddie really,  _ really _ needed to pee. 

Venom toyed with the swell of Eddie's bladder, and considered just outright  _ squeezing _ —  or relaxing the muscles that sleep kept taught, breaking down the inbuilt safeguards against bed wetting.

But it would be much more entertaining to just wake him up. 

A jolt of adrenaline did it. Eddie groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face, moving to sitting then standing before he'd even opened his eyes. He'd slept in just boxers, and his dick was tenting them out. 

He moved at a slow, half-asleep shuffle to the bathroom, and Venom took the time to revel in vicarious sensation—  the pressing throb of pressure on a full bladder, the urgency of it, every shifting step. The Symbiote lacked a sophisticated excretory system of its own—  but it was certainly fun to play with someone else's.

Peeing while hard was a complicated, semi-acrobatic feat, but Eddie managed it. The entire time, Venom tapped gently at his right eardrum. A sound half on the edge of hearing; just perceptible to the unconscious. 

**Good job on making it.** He teased, once Eddie was finished and washing his hands.  **I’m proud of you.**

“Shut up,” Eddie said. “It was  _ once _ .” 

**Once since I got here.**

Eddie shrugged, clearly frustrated, and returned to his room to dig around for a semi-clean shirt.  

**I think you should be...rewarded.** Venom suggested, reaching a tendril out and down, wrapping it around Eddie's still-stiff cock. The endocrine cocktail of desire flooded the world. 

“Yeah.” Eddie said, suddenly breathless. “Maybe I should be.” 

* * *

Gigs were great. 

The dusty floorboards practically vibrated with the sound of the bass, and drinks were overpriced but plentiful. Eddie was there, technically, in a journalistic capacity, but he’d taken all the notes he needed and was focusing now on  _ enjoying  _ it. Which meant a pint in each hand and a hell of a distance between him and the bathrooms.

**It’s loud here.** Venom complained.   **It’s damaging your eardrums.**

“What?” Eddie asked, downing one of his beers. He’d started to feel the drinks three cups ago, but that wouldn’t stop him.

**Very funny. I don’t understand why you enjoy these things.**

“Because I enjoy music, V,” Eddie said. “And get paid to go to these things.” 

Venom rumbled his displeasure, then prodded at Eddie’s bladder. 

**You should drink more.**

He wormed palpably upward, and did  _ something _ to his kidneys; Eddie could feel the shift.  

Then, barely perceptible,  _ under  _ the music, a close-up, damped down sound in his ear. 

Immediately, he needed to  _ go _ . Clearly whatever Venom was doing with his brain was working, because it abruptly became a matter of  _ now _ . 

Eddie tucked his press pass into his jacket—  he was about to do something very unbecoming of a journalist—  and looked around. The floorspace fell eventually to a tight staircase down, and Eddie fell into something like a jog, trying to get out of the crowd. Each long stride was another uncomfortable jolt, another  _ almost _ . The stairs themselves were hell. 

He made it outside, but not far—  he had little choice but to unzip then and there, a couple yards away from the doorway. The overspill of light from the windows caught the stream, glittering in the flashing colours of the lower floor’s club lighting. 

**They’re watching us.**

Venom drew his eyes to the line of people waiting for entry. 

And all at once, Eddie discovered the appeal of taboo. 

* * *

He just had to hold it till the movie ended. 

In the interest of shared references and learning about earth pop culture, Eddie and Venom were having a movie marathon. Today's pick? Lord of the Rings.

Eight hours of popcorn and coke later Eddie was starting to regret that.

Apparently, the movies had universal appeal, because his alien boyfriend was absolutely and totally glued to them. Venom had rooted them to the spot somewhere around hour two, and Eddie hadn't been able to budge since. An uncomfortable pressure was building 

“V.” He said. “Can we take a break?” 

Venom had manifested as a snake-like extrusion of a head, which was buried in the popcorn bowl. 

**No.**

Eddie spent a second futilely straining against invisible restraints, then realised. 

He picked up another can of soda and popped the tab. 

Venom went still. 

**_Tease._ **

The word fell directly into Eddie's mind, without bothering to consult his ears on the matter. He smiled.

“Have to let me up soon,” Edie said, in something of a sing-song. He was finding buttons and enjoyed the power of pushing them.

He'd downed the better part of a six-pack before the start of the second act, and from there on out it was a battle of wills. Venom preferred to indulge with specificity—  to set up a scenario and stay in control. At least, that was how things had worked with every other kinky shenanigan they'd took part in. 

So taking that control was  _ fun _ . 

Either he’d have to relent and let Eddie up to the bathroom or he’d have to relent and let Eddie’s body do as it pleased.

Soda-the-seventh marked the point where he was far enough from the initial onslaught to start  _ really _ feeling it— the hot twinges in his lower abdomen, the throbbing ache of being over completely over capacity. 

The pressing heavy warmth of it grew stronger, and Eddie squirmed, a regrettable motion that sent little bolts of pain up through his body.

_ Pull yourself together _ , he told himself.   _ Don't give him the satisfaction. _

He spent a few minutes in obstinate silence, arms folded across his chest, watching the swords and orcs bouncing around the screen. Eddie was a grown up. He could hold it. 

Logic told him that he was being  _ allowed _ to, but his alien other half seemed distracted enough for once to leave this to him. He could pinpoint the feeling of interference, now, and there was no sign of it. 

He took another sip of soda. The cold liquid seemed to probe fingers down to meet the warmth in his abdomen, as if the liquid itself were sentient and  _ pushing _ ; making the feeling of fullness almost unbearable. He shifted, slightly, trying to find a comfortable position when Venom wouldn’t let him cross his legs. 

They had maybe twenty minutes of runtime left. He could handle twenty minutes. 

Maybe. Just about. 

Tension built; he was suddenly afforded the range of motion to snap his legs together, which didn’t really help. The desperation was starting to burn. 

He considered just letting it go right there. It wasn’t such a big deal to have to wash pants and underwear, and the couch itself was leather. Cleanup would be fairly easy—  but that would mean losing.

Eddie bounced one leg, bit his lip, tried to distract himself. the warmth of impending arousal began to stroke at his spine— this had been getting a lot more fun, lately.

Spine ramrod-straight, he watched with watering eyes as the credits  _ finally _ began to roll. The pressure in his bladder seemed to  _ pulse _ , radiating out and upwards, hot and stinging.

"It's over," he said, reveling in the implication of freedom. "It's over, I can finally  _ go _ ."

**Can you?**

"You had better let me," Eddie said and realised very suddenly how little of this had been under his control. Before he'd even finished the sentence, he felt it. Everything relaxing, and the first warm spurt, after which trying was pointless.

Piss pooled in his lap and then beneath him, soaking through his sweatpants and dripping over the edge of the leather cushion. Warm relief flooded his body, fanning outward. The feedback loop of emotion was a powerful pull, feelings that were half his own—  blissful respite and pleasure and pride. He vocalised no objection; made no sound but the sigh that hissed its way between his teeth.

Venom surfaced from the popcorn, teeth bubbling into place and forming into a smile.

**Oh,** **_Eddie_ ** **.**

Movement, the puppeteering of his body towards the bathroom. 

**Let’s get you cleaned up.**

The world went warm and fuzzy, after that—  his clothes were quickly peeled away, deposited in the laundry basket. Everything fell to soapy water and respite. 

* * *

“So you’re... both here?” Dan asked, in a way that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d actually winked.

“Both here.” Eddie answered.

**“Hi.”** Venom added, to amplify his point.

“So technically,” Dan said, conspiratorially. “This is a double date.”

“With a space alien.” Anne deadpanned, stabbing her salad with unnecessary force. “I’m on a double date with a space alien. This is my life.”

“This is our life!” Dan added, with an almost childlike glee.

He had a habit of looking at Eddie like an experiment, which, in a way, he was. The first true example of human-klyntar symbiosis.

Who was currently being aggressively wined and dined by, as Anne put it, a space alien.

“Did you enjoy that...concert thing?” Anne asked. 

In their secluded corner of the restaurant—  in possibly the world's fanciest wraparound booth—  there was a little bit of wiggle room for the tendrils. One snaked free now, black slime wrapping itself around the neck of the wine bottle and pouring Eddie yet another glass.

“Yeah!” Eddie said, with perhaps too much enthusiasm. “Yeah. It was… it was good.”  

He'd had the better part of the water pitcher before the wine had been brought out, and started on attempts to dampen its impact via a lot of bread and the side of fries that came with his steak. The vague memory of a factoid had surfaced— the body absorbed liquids more slowly if they were mixed with something else.

It wasn't working.

By the end of the second course, he needed to go, but they were in mutual agreement to hold out.

Eddie picked up his glass and took another sip. the wine was one of those exceedingly expensive old ones, and it seemed almost like a waste— to use it for something like this.

He shifted slightly in his high-backed chair, tense against the velvet. That same hot pressure was building in his lower abdomen.

He could wait. He'd have to.

After desert— the densest, most decadent chocolate cake Eddie had ever had— they went home.

It was maybe the most luxuriously uncomfortable uber ride in history.

**You know.** Venom purred, as they rounded the first twist in the staircase up to Eddie's apartment.  **In humans, chocolate is an aphrodisiac.**

"Is it?" Eddie unlocked the door. "Think you could prove that to me?"

**I** **_know_ ** **I can.**

Eddie was suddenly up against the wall, pinned by a glorious monstrosity of muscle. Sharing a mind had its benefits; he could feel Venom's arousal intertwining with its own, with the sting of his building desperation.

He pawed uselessly at his dress pants as they kissed, until Venom unbuttoned them for him; allowed him to shift the focus of his hands to the coiling muscle of his other's body.

“V, I-” he mumbled, breathless, when he finally retook possession of his lips. He was understood immediately, and a tendril snaked into his boxers, pressed against his perineum. 

**You can wait.**

* * *

Cocktails.

For all his attempts at looking badass—  and all the ways his symbiote shared them—  Eddie loved cocktails. The sugary sweetness, the piercing alcohol tang; there was none of the restraint induced by things like beer. Nobody ever felt the urge to nurse a blue hawaii.

Which was why Eddie was an alarming number of pina coladas into this particular binge.

**Drink up, Eddie.**

The words poured into his thoughts like a vocalisation, low and gravelly. Glass touched his lips. Here, in the dimly-lit corner of a half empty club, they could get away with anything.

He was already beginning to struggle, though—  each trek to and from the bar was harder, and not because all of the alcohol.

Eddie shifted forwards on the plastic booth, rocking slightly—  trying to take some of the pressure off.

“Can we go home soon?”

He wasn’t desperate  _ yet _ , but after the walk home? it was a delicate balancing act. A gamble.

**One more drink.**

“One more drink.” Eddie agreed.

The alcohol wouldn’t really stick— Venom could leech it from his bloodstream, keep him comfortably buzzed. That was necessary, here—  if Eddie didn’t stay relatively sober, he wouldn’t make it home dry.

They left, and the ten minute walk home seemed to take twice that long, each step a hot jolt to his bladder. making it up the stairs was even harder— Venom began pressing soft kisses to the inside of his neck, grazing along the skin of his jawline, hot and fluid.

They practically fell through the door, Venom manifesting against him. Deep, melting kisses became a race to get Eddie naked, thin black tendrils wrenching down his jeans, unbuttoning his shirt.

He moaned at the depth of contact, that ghosting everywhere-touch, the feedback loop of building arousal. Tendrils, everywhere, parting his thighs and stroking through his hair and around his cock as it hardened; he loved to be held so wholly.

“Venom,” he managed, speech stuttering as his heart seemed to under that delicious touch. “I need to—” 

**You can wait.**

The commanding tone was ridiculously hot; arousal joined the tangle of sensation building between his legs.

That was half the thrill of it—  the  _ threat _ , especially as venom effortlessly swooped him across the apartment and thumped him down on the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking with the impact. 

Venom, in the technical sense, didn't really have a dick, but that didn't matter when you were  _ riding  _ it; the first few finger-like protrusions opened him up for something that certainly  _ felt _ like a dick. The hard hot length of it was familiar, making him shudder as it was pushed in, the girth stretching him to his limit. 

The tip nudged his prostate, triggering a flood of twinned sensation—  the pleasure inherent to the touch, and the writhing of pressure on an overfull bladder. Each thrust was another impact, another reason to grit his teeth and whine, arching his back up off the mattress in a futile attempt to lessen the strain. 

“V-” 

**You can hold it. You’re** **_going to._ **

Another pur of pleasure, nonvocal, humming down Eddie’s spine and across his brain. Coupled with the cutting strength of command.

**For me.**

Eddie’s hands tightened into fists against Venom’s back, and he nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. He was on the verge of bursting, but he had to at least  _ try _ .

The urge to squirm away from the sensation warred with the sheer hot  _ glory _ of it. Eddie wanted to bury himself in that feeling, to submit himself to an eternity of it. 

Something inside him  _ fluttered _ ; the sensation at once alien and glorious. It was a novel form of touch, something a human lover could have never done. 

Eddie stuttered a moan and thrust uselessly at the air, hot pleasure sparking up his spine and flooding his brain with fireworks. He came almost violently, and the spatter of white was immediately followed by the first hot drips of gold. 

As he softened it became easier, the flow picking up, warm wetness pooling across his abdomen and soaking into the sheets. The relief of it picked up where the last notes of orgasm left off, and he sighed his pleasure into his pillows. 

**You didn’t wait. And you ruined our mattress.** It was chiding faux-disappointment, the closure of the scene.  **Bad Eddie.**

“‘M sorry,” Eddie mumbled. “That was fun.” 

He was gently lifted from the bed—  and he loved that, being carried, Venom manifesting fully just for that note of comfort—  and taken to the bathroom. 

“Am I in trouble?” he asked. 

**Next time.** Venom rumbled, lowering Eddie into the full tub. Eddie nodded, relaxing into the warm water and into inaction; letting himself be cleaned. 

Next time would bring punishment. 

Next time would be  _ fun _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for someone, and I really hope they enjoy it! 
> 
> Find me on twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/QualityStSin)


End file.
